Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
AVA
I caught myself purring.
Not on purpose. Not because someone was touching me or holding me or making me feel safe.
Just... purring. Standing alone in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew, the sound vibrating in my chest like it belonged there.
I stopped the moment I noticed, pressing my hand to my sternum like I could physically silence it.
But the damage was done. The realization settled into my bones with the weight of an anvil.
I was becoming what they wanted.
The thought should have felt like a victory, survival, adaptation, making the best of a bad situation. Instead, it felt like drowning. Like watching myself disappear one piece at a time, replaced by something softer, something that craved their touch and their scent and their approval.
The old Ava would have been horrified.
The new Ava... I wasn't sure she existed at all. It had been three days since Mason. Three days of floating in a haze of contentment that terrified me more than any of their threats ever had. I'd stopped flinching when they touched me. Stopped counting the exits. Stopped planning.
I'd started leaning into Caleb's chest when he carved his creations by the fire.
Started seeking out Leo's sharp wit when the silence got too heavy.
Started waiting for Ethan to explain things, genuinely curious about the science behind my own biology, listening for Mason's footsteps, my heart lifting when he entered a room.
The bond hummed between us constantly now, a five-way thread of emotion that I couldn't untangle no matter how hard I tried.
Their feelings bled into mine until I couldn't tell the difference.
Was this contentment mine, or theirs? This warmth in my chest, was it love, or just the bond doing what bonds did?
Did it even matter anymore? I carried the coffee to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. The face that looked back at me from the mirror was almost unrecognizable.
Soft eyes. Flushed cheeks. Lips still swollen from Leo's kisses that morning.
And marks, god, so many marks. Caleb's bite on my shoulder, scarred over but still visible.
Ethan's neat claiming mark on the curve of my neck.
Leo's messier one just below. And Mason's, fresh and pink, throbbing faintly with my pulse.
I looked claimed. I looked owned. I looked like exactly what I was — an Omega who belonged to her pack.
Something deep inside me started to panic.
I gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles going white, forcing myself to breathe through the tightness in my chest. This was fine. This was survival. This was—
This is you giving up.
The thought came unbidden, sharp and accusatory.
I tried to push it away, but it lodged in my brain like a splinter.
I wasn't fighting anymore. I'd stopped fighting.
For three years, fighting was all I knew.
Running, hiding, surviving on pure stubborn refusal to become what biology said I should be.
That fight had nearly killed me, yes. But it had also been the only thing that was truly mine.
And now? Now I purred without trying. Scented them for comfort. Craved their touch like oxygen. I was becoming soft, pliable, content. Everything they'd wanted from the beginning.
If I stopped fighting... who was I?
The testing started small.
That afternoon, Mason came up behind me while I was reading by the window. His hand landed on my shoulder, thumb tracing the curve of my neck, and I felt myself start to lean back into him automatically. I stopped. Pulled forward instead. Away from his touch.
His Alpha flared instantly, I felt it through the bond before I saw it in his eyes. That dark, possessive energy that demanded submission, demanded closeness, demanded mine.
"Ava," he said, his voice low and laced with warning, his fingers tightening on my shoulder.
"I'm just reading," I said without looking at him, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it, my eyes fixed unseeing on the page.
His hand tightened on my shoulder, and he pulled me back against him, firm but not rough. "You're pulling away." It wasn't a question. He could feel it through the bond, my walls going up, my instinctive retreat.
"I just wanted some space," I managed, my voice smaller than I intended, my body rigid against his chest.
"You don't need space from me," he murmured against my hair, breathing me in, his arms wrapping around me like he could physically prevent me from slipping away. "You don't need space from any of us."
I wanted to argue, to push back, demand he respect my boundaries, remind him that I was a person with autonomy and not just an extension of their pack.
Instead, I let myself sink into his warmth, because fighting felt exhausting and his arms felt safe, and somewhere along the way I'd forgotten how to want anything else.
The panic in my chest grew teeth.
The next day, I tried with Caleb.
He was carving in the living room, working on something small and intricate. I sat beside him like I always did, close enough that our thighs touched. He made a soft sound of contentment, and I felt the urge to purr rise up in response.
I swallowed it down. Kept my chest silent. Caleb's hands stilled. He looked at me, those pale eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"Ava?" His voice was soft, uncertain, his brow furrowing as he set down his knife, giving me his full attention.
"I'm fine," I said, forcing a small smile that felt brittle on my face. "Just tired."
He didn't believe me. I could feel it. Instead of pushing, he just..
. shifted closer. Pressed his side more firmly against mine.
His hand found my knee, his thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of my pants.
He didn't leave my side for the rest of the day.
Every time I moved, he moved with me. Every time I sat, he sat beside me.
His neediness wrapped around me like a blanket, suffocating in its intensity.
By nightfall, I was crawling out of my skin.
Ethan was harder. He found me in the library the next morning, and instead of curling up to read while he worked like I usually did, I challenged him.
"Why do you track everything?" I asked, gesturing to the tablet in his hands, my voice sharper than I intended. "My sleep, my food, my heat cycles — why does it all need to be documented?"
He blinked, adjusting his glasses with that precise, measured movement I'd come to recognize.
"Because it helps me take care of you," he said, like it was obvious.
"If I know your patterns, I can anticipate what you need before you even have to ask.
It's not about control, Ava. It's about making sure you're okay. "
"What if I don't want to be monitored?" I pushed, sitting up straighter, my hands curling into fists in my lap. "What if I just want to exist without every aspect of my biology being tracked and analyzed?"
Something flickered in his gray eyes, surprise, maybe, or hurt.
He set the tablet down, giving me his full attention.
"Is that really what this is about? The tracking?
" He studied my face, and I could practically see him cataloging my micro-expressions.
"Your cortisol levels have been elevated for days.
You're not sleeping well. Something's bothering you, and it's not my spreadsheets. "
"Maybe I'm just tired of feeling like a science experiment," I snapped, rising to my feet, my voice cracking with frustration.
Ethan's jaw tightened, and when he spoke again, there was an edge to his voice I rarely heard.
"You're not an experiment. You're my mate.
And if paying attention to your health makes me the villain, then fine.
I'll be the villain." He picked up his tablet again, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the hurt he was trying to hide.
"But I'm not going to apologize for caring about you. "
I wanted to scream. Instead, I stormed out of the library, my hands shaking with rage I couldn't name.
Leo found me on the porch that evening, huddled in a blanket, staring at the darkening sky.
"Trouble in paradise?" He lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his sharp features, casting shadows across the cruel beauty of his face. "The others are inside comparing notes on your little rebellion. Very cute, by the way. Really convincing."
"Fuck off, Leo," I muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, not bothering to look at him.
His eyebrows rose, and something dangerous flickered in his pale eyes. "There she is. I was wondering when the claws would come back out." He took a drag, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling between us like a barrier. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Domestic bliss not everything you dreamed it would be?"
"I said fuck off," I repeated, my voice harder this time, my jaw clenched tight.
He moved closer instead, dropping onto the bench beside me, close enough that I could smell smoke and cedar and that dark undertone that was uniquely him. "You know what I think? I think you're terrified."
"I'm not—"
"Not of us," he continued, talking over me, his voice dropping to something almost thoughtful. "You stopped being scared of us weeks ago. No, you're terrified of yourself. Of how much you like it here. Of how easy it would be to just... give in."
His words hit too close to home. I felt tears prick my eyes and blinked them back furiously.
"So you're pulling away," Leo said, his voice going soft, almost gentle, a tone I'd rarely heard from him.
"Testing us. Seeing if we'll let you go.
" He took another drag, watching me through the smoke, his pale eyes unreadable.
"We won't, you know. You can fight all you want, but you're not going anywhere. "
"That's the problem," I whispered before I could stop myself, the words slipping out raw and unguarded. Leo went still. Through the bond, I felt his surprise, then something sharper. Understanding.
"Ah." He flicked ash off the porch railing, his expression shifting into something almost soft.
"You need to know it's a choice." I looked at him, startled by how accurately he'd read me.
"I get it," he said with a shrug, but there was something raw beneath his casual tone, something that cracked through his usual armor.
"I spent years running from David, from this pack, from everything I was supposed to be.
Told myself I'd never let anyone cage me.
" His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Then you came along, and suddenly the cage didn't feel like a cage anymore. "
"How did you know?" I asked quietly, searching his face for answers I wasn't sure existed. "That you wanted to stay?"
"I didn't," he admitted, meeting my eyes, and for once there was no mockery in his gaze, no sharp edges. Just honesty. "I just got tired of running. One day I woke up and realized that staying didn't feel like surrender anymore. It felt like home."
I wanted to believe him,to trust that I could find that same peace. There was a voice in my head that wouldn't stop screaming. A voice that sounded like the girl I used to be, the one who would rather die than submit.
You have to know, it said. You have to be sure.
That night, I lay awake in the nest, surrounded by their warmth, their scents, their steady breathing.
Mason's arm was heavy across my waist. Caleb was pressed against my back, his face buried in my hair. Leo's hand rested on my hip, possessive even in sleep. Ethan was slightly apart, but I could feel his attention through the bond, always monitoring, always aware.
I was drowning, not in them. No it was the battle, the constant push and pull. Resist, and they claimed harder. Submit, and I lost another piece of myself. There was no winning, no equilibrium, no way to be both theirs and mine.
I could stop fighting. Surrender completely, let myself dissolve into them, become the Omega they'd always wanted. Maybe I'd even be happy. Maybe I'd forget that I'd ever wanted anything else.
Or I could fight forever. Keep testing, keep pulling away, keep clawing for scraps of autonomy while they tightened their grip. Watch us all destroy each other, slowly, inevitably.
Or...
There was a third option.
I could run. One more time. Not forever, just long enough to prove I could. Long enough to break free of this haze and think clearly. Long enough to know, with absolute certainty, whether staying was a choice or just another form of surrender.
I needed to know it was a choice. If I got out and wanted to come back, that was my answer. I could give myself to them completely, without reservation, without that screaming voice in my head telling me I was weak.
If I got out and wanted to stay gone, that was my answer too. At least I'd know. I just needed to know. The decision settled into my chest like a stone, heavy and immutable. I closed my eyes, forced my breathing to stay even, and began to plan.
I'm sorry, I thought, feeling their contentment through the bond, their absolute certainty that I was finally, truly theirs. I have to know. In the darkness of the nest, surrounded by the men who had claimed me body and soul, I started counting exits again.